


Better Days

by tacky



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bastards in Love, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Idiots in Love, POV Third Person, This just in, Unnamed Farmer, banter as a love language, bc shane swears like a sailor and we love him for that, im trash, is probably a more accurate term, mention of shanes days as a joth, shane is thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, shane with healthy coping mechanisims, shane's happy aww look at him, thats right im not a coward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacky/pseuds/tacky
Summary: “Come on babe, those tomatoes won’t pick themselves. Stop staring and get back to work.” He feels a grin run across his face as he hears her sputter back to life, stumbling over her words.“Wha-I-How’d you evenknow?”He picks up the last melon and loads it into a wheelbarrow. When he passes her where she kneels next to the tomato cages, he stops. He flicks her sunhat down over her face as he speaks, smiling down at her.“It suddenly got very quiet over here. That, and you’reverypredictable, babe.” And with that, he hefts the wheelbarrow back up and heads towards the preserves jars, leaving her laughing and trying to find her words in his wake.(Various oneshots of Shane and his wife, being idiots in love. As they should be. Total fluff.)
Relationships: Shane/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Shane/Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 109





	1. Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

> welcome aboard the shane train babey!  
> Also yeah this is my first fanfic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane's come a long way in the past few years. Life is a lot better now that he's not consumed by self loathing.

“Yoba, why’s it have to be so _fuckin’_ hot!” Shane finds himself saying, more to the sky than to anyone else, as he works in the fields one midsummer day, helping his wife harvest crops. ( _Wife!_ Even after being married for the past year and a half, the word still hadn’t lost its magic)

His gloved hands work the garden shears, cutting a melon from the vine. After another moment, he's finally had it with the muggy air around him, which has been slowly cooking him alive over the course of the day. This morning, when he’d checked on the beloved chickens, it hadn’t been so bad. Now however, with the sun high in the afternoon sky, it was getting _unbearable._

With an aggravated huff, his hand is at the back of his neck, yanking his shirt off, revealing his broad, soft body without a second thought. With another noise of disdain, he slings it over his shoulder and continues his work, wiping his brow for just about the thousandth time as he picks up the shears again.

After a few moments of working, he pauses, looks up, and speaks up again. He doesn't even bother to face his wife as he addresses her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Come on babe, those tomatoes won’t pick themselves. Stop staring and get back to work.”

He feels a grin run across his face as he hears her sputter back to life, stumbling over her words.

“Wha-I-How’d you even _know?”_

He picks up the last melon and loads it into a wheelbarrow. When he passes her where she kneels next to the tomato cages, he stops. He flicks her sunhat down over her face as he speaks, smiling down at her.

“It suddenly got very quiet over here. That, and you’re _very_ predictable, babe.”

And with that, he hefts the wheelbarrow back up and heads towards the preserves jars, leaving her laughing and trying to find her words in his wake.

Aside from lamenting about the _massive_ sunburn he'd given himself from the stunt, he doesn’t think much of the incident. At least until later that night, after dinner- which they'd cooked together.

When they moved in together, they both lacked in the culinary department- so they figured _hey, why not just get better at it together?_ It had been an easy routine to slip into, and they enjoy the time together- even if most of it is spent awkwardly bumping into each other and re-reading the recipe book every two minutes, quietly chanting the directions to themselves like a mantra.

Tonight, it was stir fry. They eat their dinner curled next to each other on the couch, watching a movie- some old cheesy action flick with hilariously bad special effects. The credits roll, his wife gets up to brush her teeth, and he stays put on account of the cat in his lap. He feels himself smile as he stokes her soft fur, feeling the little fiend purr in response.

Today’s been a good day.

He looks up just in time to see his wife, changed into her “pajamas,” (one of his shirts, which- despite being _way_ too big on her- didn’t belong anywhere else) coming back to reclaim her spot on the couch. Before he has a chance to comment, she plops down next to him and pulls him into a kiss.

They break away and as he catches his breath, he finally finds his words, his lips quirking up.

“What’s the occasion?”

She smiles at him, one of her hands reaching up to run her fingers through the hair at his temple. As he waits for her to continue, he lets his free hand- the one not petting the cat- return the gesture. As she speaks, her hand comes to cup his face, and he leans into her touch as he listens.

“I...I just- I’m really proud of you Shane-” she kisses him again here, “-you’ve come a long way.”

“I suppose I have, haven’t I?” He muses quietly, turning his attention to the cat. It was true, and while he still had plenty of bad days- more than he cared to admit, especially when it rained- what consisted of a bad day now was a hell of a lot more bearable than what they used to be. These past few years of therapy hadn’t been _easy,_ but they’d definitely been worth it.

His wife continues, hand moving to brush through his dark hair.

“It’s nice to see you happy, Shane. You deserve it.”

He smiles faintly, turning from the cat to her. It's a wonderful, sincere moment, but he can’t resist teasing her. He lets his features scrunch up in mock suspicion- ultimately betrayed by the grin spreading across his unshaven face.

“You’re just happy I’m comfortable enough in my own skin to take my shirt off on a hot summer’s day, aren’t you?”

She laughs, but her face is flushing, and suddenly, the fireplace seems very interesting to her. _Guilty as charged._

“I-is it a _crime_ to enjoy the view?” She laughs nervously, but meets his gaze again. This time, she seems intent on saying something. “...But seriously, a few years ago you would have never done that. It _is_ nice to see you comfortable in your own skin. And not just because I’m a total perv, but because you’re my husband and I love you-”

He cuts her off with a kiss and a smile.

“But also because you’re a total perv.”

She laughs again- music to his ears- and gives him a playful push.

“Stop, I’m trying to be sappy here.”

He brings his arm around her, pulling her towards him. He rests his chin on the top of her head before speaking, huffing out a laugh himself.

“Hmm. I suppose I’ll allow it.”

She snorts a little at his response. Thank Yoba she knows his dry humor when she hears it.

“I dunno, it just got me thinking back to back when we started dating. Back when it was like you were hiding under that Joja hoodie... And, I don’t know- I’m just glad it’s not like that anymore. You don’t seem as burdened by that stuff anymore, and I can tell you’re a lot happier for it. You’re not like, apologizing for existing anymore, and I know it took a lot of work for you to get yourself to this point, and I’m proud, and I just love you a lot-”

Shane’s laugh cuts her off. He holds her a little closer, and kisses her temple so she knows that he isn’t laughing _at_ her- only that she's being cute. She doesn’t continue, only snuggling herself further against him. He takes the opportunity to fill the silence, pressing another kiss to her hair.

“Love you too, babe.”

They stay like that for another minute, enjoying the embrace, his hand idly playing with her hair. After a while, he breaks the silence.

“I also love that shirt on you,” he feels her grin against his chest at that, and he continues, knowing he’s about to make her roll her eyes. “But maybe it’d look better on the fl-”

She doesn’t even let him finish. She breaks out into laughter, elbowing his side as she pulls away to double over. As she struggles to catch her breath, she looks over at him, the smile still reaching her eyes.

“Oh, _come on-_ now who’s the perv?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending sucks but this is my first fic ever, so I fully intend to milk that as an excuse lmao
> 
> ...Hopefully Shane's characterization was faithful here, since I imagine once he's not completely miserable all the time, the bastard streak that's present in a couple of his dialogue lines comes out a lot more
> 
> idk, ao3 has comments right? sound off if it's too whack i guess lol


	2. Photos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 photos of Shane and his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah u know the little photo set robin sells? this one's about that.

Shane slept in this morning. He loves his wife, and the fact that she doesn’t expect him to get up at the asscrack of dawn with her every morning makes him love her even more. He sits up with a sigh, one hand clumsily rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

As he stretches, he looks to the calendar on the wall by the bed. The photos posted on the wall catch his eye. Most of them were taken courtesy of Haley, who's always eager to take photos of people at the various festivals throughout the year.

The most recent of the bunch was taken at the Luau this year. Shane's looking at the camera, raising his glass- full of _soda,_ thank you very much- in toast. He was wearing a lei (despite his protests) and his button up shirt was open to reveal the white tank top underneath. In a faded tank top herself- adorned with the logo of band neither of them had probably listened to since high school- his wife stood next to him, raising her glass of iced tea. Her eyes were closed, caught mid-blink, but her smile was wide.

The funniest part of the photo was behind them, where Emily had been captured in the middle of one of her dances.

The next photo was taken on Spirit's Eve. He hadn’t so much “dressed up” as worn a festive shirt he’d come across in one of his monthly stops in the city. It had a jack-o-lantern on it, and he figured that was good enough.

In the photo, he was in the process of getting a refill of the bright orange punch at one of the buffet tables- because where else were you going to find him at a town festival? You only get food like that once a year, you know.

Regardless, the photo was one of his wife’s favorites. Haley had suddenly called out to them to say “cheese!” and snapped the photo before either of them could actually follow her order.

As a result, he had this dumb, blank look on his face, his head mid-turn. He'd cringed when he first saw it, but his wife laughed and told him that it was "actually pretty cute" as she hovered over his shoulder.

His wife- endlessly more festive than he- had taken his goddaughter's suggestion and gone as a witch that year. She was dressed in black with a wide brimmed, oversized hat placed askew on her head. She was also blurry in this photo, since upon hearing Haley, she'd tried to lean in closer to him. In this photo, her black gloved hand was shooting towards its place on his hip, and her other hand held a broom triumphantly. Once again, she was caught mid-blink.

The third was probably his favorite photo. (Aside from their wedding photo, of course- which was carefully framed and placed on the fireplace.)

It hadn’t been taken at any festivals. It was taken in the coop- Haley stopped by to capture more of the “farm life” one day. She found them in the middle of cleaning the coop. As the two of them were excitedly introducing her to their chickens, she'd snuck a photo.

This time, his wife wasn’t even looking at the camera. Instead, she was focused on the blue hen in her arms, smiling at it with that sunny smile of hers. And to be fair, he wasn’t looking at the camera either. He was squatting down, in the middle of introducing Charlie, the same smile on his face as he picked her up in his arms.

Maybe it was the fact that it was a candid shot, or the fact that the chickens were also in the frame, or the look they had on their faces, but whenever he saw the photo, he couldn’t help but smile.

A voice interrupts his reminiscing.

“We should get a photo of us and the snowman we build with Jas. At the Festival of Ice next week.” He jumps, turning to see her leaning on the doorway. He looks back toward the wall and nods. It would fit well right next to the one of them at the Flower Dance- taken back when they were dating. He makes a mental note to pull Haley aside this year.

“Would be cute.” His wife huffs at that, coming to his side to see the photos as well.

“Of course it would, I’d be in it.” He snorts, letting his arm wrap around her as she smiles fondly at the photos.

“What if Haley gets it while you’re in the Fishing Competition?”

“You mean while I’m beating Willy at his own game?” She looks up at him, a cheeky glint in her eye. He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Bold talk for someone who kept reeling in algae last year.” He watches, trying not to laugh, as she silently gasps at this. Her mouth hangs agape for a moment as she tries desperately to recover. To no avail- unable to think of a response, she eventually breaks into a begrudging smile. She bumps her hips into his, and walks away back toward the kitchen. When she turns to face him as she reaches the doorway, her cheeks are still flushed.

“Whatever. Breakfast is ready, _ye of little faith._ ”

As he leaves the room, he gives one last glance at the collection of photos. There's room for plenty more- and with a smile, he realizes he can’t wait to see what they’ll be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as fun as this was to write i have to go take a test now
> 
> next chapter: grocery shopping! or goofing on each other more, whichever one my grimy little hands type out first


	3. Groceries, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and his wife go grocery shopping together. 
> 
> I know, after reading the chapter title, that must be a big surprise for you all.

Currently, Shane is waiting by the door patiently as his better half scrutinizes the notebook in her hand. In it, she’d written the grocery list for the week, but past experience has taught them both to give it another pass over before they leave. Turns out, they're both forgetful of the mundanities of life, and a little extra caution never hurt anybody.

After a few more moments, she seems satisfied, flipping it shut with a resolute nod. She stuffs it into the pocket of her green winter coat- the _chest_ pocket, sewn into the inside of the coat, which she triumphantly shows off to anyone who comments on her attire. He’d noticed, from having stood (awkwardly) next to her a fair few times during these exchanges, that this reveal always gets a bigger reaction out of women than men. Emily in particular had seemed impressed, saying that _"there just aren’t enough pockets in the world."_

“Ready?” Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts as she picks up her hat and joins him. With a nod and an affirmative grunt, he opens the door, saluting the cat a farewell as he shuts it behind him.

As their boots crunch through the snow, he feels her hand latch onto his arm. With a silent nod, he takes his right hand out of his coat pocket for her. Their hands meet, and their fingers intertwine. This was another routine of theirs. Given that he was never really one for public affection, she’d let go whenever they’d pass the bus stop, and he’d shove his hand back in his pocket, missing her touch but thankful of her thoughtfulness.

On a day as cold as this though, there's not anyone out.

So when they reach town, and he feels her fingers begin to break away from his, he gives her gloved hand a squeeze. When he looks over to her, he sees the little smile form on her face as she gives his hand a squeeze back. And with that, they brave the cold, hand in hand for the rest of the trek to Pierre’s.

When they reach Pierre’s, whatever little romantic moment they’d carved out for themselves dissipates as they hastily shove their hands back into their pockets and try to loose the snow sticking to their boots on the little mat by the door. Pierre himself is behind the counter, proudly announcing that the store has heating.

They give a nod of acknowledgement in his direction and go to examine the aisles. When they’re out of Pierre’s view, his wife rolls her eyes, the smarmy look on her face only partially obscured by her massive scarf as she jokingly mouths his words. He tries to disguise his snicker as a cough.

And so they check everything off their list and head home, arms full of bags. After kicking their boots off at the door and placing everything onto the kitchen table, his wife enthusiastically greets the cat, triumphantly announcing that they're home as she picks it up. She cradles the precious little beast in her arms.

Of course, it's a cat- so it doesn't last long, and once she'd had enough of the attention, his wife gently put her back down. As the cat slinks off, his wife joins him on the couch. His arm lazily wraps around her as they warm each other up. He flips through the channels on TV, trying to decide between a nature documentary or a campy murder mystery set in space.

“Go for the murder mystery, I always get sad when they show the predators killing the cute little animals.” Her fingers are idly tracing shapes on his shoulder as she speaks.

He laughs, but she makes a good point. He says so and they curl up even closer to each other as they watch the hysterical melodrama of the murder mystery unfold. After a while of snarking at the acting- around the midpoint during one of the _obvious_ red herrings- she gets up, but not before looking up to kiss his jaw and quickly running her fingers through his hair.

“You want some coffee?”

“Sure.” He watches her as she heads to the kitchen, but turns his attention back to the movie. As he predicted, it was a false lead. He’s gotten fairly good at this sort of thing, to the point where he'd periodically lean into his wife and whisper his predictions to her.

She’d nuzzle into him as he'd tell her in a low whisper that _the secretary did it_ , or _the captain is the traitor_ , and whenever it was revealed that he was right, she’d silently turn to him with a delighted smile and he’d sheepishly shrug his shoulders.

After a few minutes go by without the sound of the coffee machine filling the air, he gives a glance in her direction. She’s standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips. With a sigh, she spins around to face him.

She crosses her arms and leans back on the counter, and from the exasperated look on her face, Shane already knows what she’s going to say. He offers her words to her.

“We forgot coffee?”

She nods.

“We forgot coffee.”


	4. Groceries, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Joja refugees walk into a Jojamart, insert punchline here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some mild use of Retail Lingo™, so read with discretion lol

_Of course they forgot coffee._

He sighs, letting his head fall against the back of the couch as he stares at the ceiling for a moment. Then he gets up, tossing the remote to the side. He stretches, reaching his arms up, and he hears his shoulders pop.

 _All my damn joints won’t shut up nowadays,_ he thinks to himself- but if he’s honest, his joints have been making all sorts of noises since high school. As he tugs the hem of his shirt back down with a grunt, he turns his head to the clock on the wall.

 _5:46._ Goddammit.

“Careful you don’t pull something, old man.” His wife says, jokingly, from her spot in the kitchen. He shakes his head at the jab, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He sweeps it back into its place as he turns to look at the playful grin on her lips. He points a finger her way, a similar grin forming on his own.

“You don't have much room to talk. I’m hardly any older than you, you know.” This doesn’t seem to phase her, because that grin is still on her face as she adopts a fake air of superiority. She stands up a little straighter, and her arms fold across her chest, her voice petulant.

“But you _are_ older than me, which means _I_ get to make fun of you for it-” The smugness on her face clears as she interrupts herself with a new thought. “Wait, what time is it? Surely Pierre’s is closed by now.” She darts to the window by the sink in an attempt to gage where the sun is in the sky, bracing her hands on the countertop.

Shane fights the overwhelming impulse to tell her _"time to get a watch"_ as he answers her question.

“5:46.”

They both know what that means. Unfortunately for them, only one of the two grocery stores in town is open past five. He watches, scratching his jaw idly as his wife shakes her head at the option, shrugging her shoulders and offering up an alternative.

“It can wait for tomorrow-” but she stops herself as she remembers tomorrow is Wednesday. She purses her lips and her shoulders drop. He knows that after a beat, she’ll sigh and say they can grab it Thursday, but the weather forecast he’d only half paid attention to this morning echoes in his mind.

“Storm’s gonna set in for the next few days. Blizzard warning was issued for our area.” He sighs before continuing. “Because _of course_ it was,” his hands come to his hips as he mentally readies himself. “Might as well get it over with.”

Originally, he was planning on going alone. He was ready to tell her that _come on babe-t_ _here's no reason for us both to suffer the cold again,_ but as she grabbed her coat, the words fell away. He knows by now that lending her company is just another way his wife tells him that she loves him.

Given the destination, her presence might even keep him from throttling anyone. Namely, _Morris._

And so they pause the movie and bundle back up. When they pass the mailbox, he feels her hand on his arm, silently seeking permission- which _of course_ he gives her. Once again, the town is empty, so they keep their hands intertwined.

They pass the saloon, and he takes a moment to close his eyes and enjoy the time he's spending with his wife, and another to acknowledge his gratitude that he gets to hold her hand in his a little longer. But as they cross the bridge to JojaMart, he feels the telltale signs of her hand about to pull away.

Usually, he’d be happy that she knows him well enough to make that call, but this time, he shakes his head and squeezes her hand again as he watches the building get closer. She returns the gesture, keeping her fingers locked in his as the doors to JojaMart slide open.

 _Immediately_ upon entering the damn place, Shane finds himself in an icy staredown with his former boss. From behind the customer service desk, Morris watches him with raised eyebrows, apparently surprised to see him set foot back in here after so unceremoniously slamming his resignation on his desk one morning.

Or- better yet- after final ten minutes of his last shift. In which Shane had flipped him off after being asked to man a register, before returning to “replenishing major strike points.” (restocking the snack aisle)

_Yoba, he should have done it sooner._

Shane squeezes his wife’s hand a little tighter as they pass the registers, but he doesn’t say anything as he guides her though the store.

They make their way through the aisles, and Shane tries to keep the disgust from curling his lip _too_ much as the memories from his time served here come flooding back. Hand still in his, his wife grabs the cheapest coffee from the shelf and tucks it under her free arm. They head to the registers, where Shane gives a respectful head nod to his former coworker.

On his way out, Shane doesn’t really bother to contain his look of disdain as he stares Morris down once more.

The freezing chill of the winter air is a refreshing change after that. He basks in it as they make their journey home, enjoying the sight of their breath condensing in the cold evening air. As they walk back, he retreats into his thoughts, keeping his mind busy with another mental list of things he's grateful for.

When they return home, his wife heads to the coffee machine and he turns the lights off before taking his spot on the couch, his coat haphazardly slung over the back of it. She delivers his cup to him, and then places hers on the side table to cool. (He knows her, she won’t touch it for another thirty minutes. For her, “letting it cool” means something more like “waiting until it’s barely above room temperature”)

She curls up next to him, and he unpauses the movie as his arm settles into its usual spot. As the investigation continues on screen, he reaches to his coat to dig through the pockets, before eventually locating and pulling out a box of candy. He holds it out to her, and after a quick kiss to her temple, whispers his offer.

“Snack?”

She turns to him, and then looks down at the box that they _definitely didn’t buy,_ and after her eyes widen, she laughs a little. He shrugs.

“What? Old habits die hard, babe.”

She shakes her head at his response, the smile still wide on her face. Instead of responding, she just pulls him into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shane can commit a little petty theft, as a treat
> 
> And yea, Jojamart is still open in this fic. Which, imo, is better because then shane and his spouse can work on the community center together- which is not only way cuter than the farmer doing it alone, but it also has the added benefit of not seeming like they are "rescuing" him from the unemployment that they were the direct cause of, and hey look im reading way too far into fictional pixels again-
> 
> Also!!! I know the retail language I used probably sounds absurd, but truth is stranger than fiction!  
> "Recover major strike points" was a real task I was given once
> 
> like jfc why's it gotta be worded like elite marine combat strategy, just tell me to refold the clothes on the aisle shelves 
> 
> Retail culture is weird, and I think re-contextualizing it as a battleground/war is probably what some people need to do to keep themselves sane, especially around the holidays, so I'm not knocking it. Do what you gotta do to cope with the soul crushing reality of retail- but you have to admit, it's hilariously jarring when your sweet, kind, overworked manager starts talking to you like she's ordering a goddamn airstrike


	5. Sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and his wife try to enjoy a sunset, but unfortunately neither can go three hours without committing shenanigans

Tonight, Shane is watching the sunset with his wife as they sit together on the steps of their house. The view is nice- in more ways than one- and he notes to himself that the peace and quiet of the farm has definitely grown on him. He still enjoys the change of pace the city provides, but it’s also a great relief to know that farm life isn’t what the darkest part of him feared it would be.

During their engagement, there had been this small, terrible piece of himself that worried this new life of his would just be a new kind of miserable fate. It warned him that he would be consumed by stagnancy, spending the rest of his days bored and languishing, in a limbo of his own design. 

Of course, as with most of these sort of scenarios his brain concocted- _catastrophizing_ , he’d heard it called- it had failed to come to fruition. 

When he moved in, the fear washed away the minute he stepped foot into her house, where he saw that nothing about it had changed. It hadn’t transformed into some cold, dreary tomb, as if it were somehow a trap waiting for the morning’s wedding ceremony to conclude before revealing itself. 

No- it was the same house he’d been in a thousand times before, and over the past couple years of their relationship, it had become as much of a home to him as his room at Marnie’s. 

(Perhaps it had even become _more_ of a home, since here, he didn’t have his breakfast interrupted every third day of the week when Lewis weaseled his way into the house to hit on his aunt.)

Frowning at the thought, and eager to replace the image with something more pleasant, Shane shakes his head and returns to the present. He looks over to sneak a glance at his wife. She’d taken off that giant sun hat of hers, which means her work for the day is done. Her eyes are closed as she basks in the warm dusk light, a peaceful smile on her lips. 

_Awww, how cute._

He desperately wants to reach out, brush the hair out of her face, and pull her closer to him. He wants to tell her she looks cold and drape his hoodie around her with some flimsy excuse about her catching a bug- because even if she isn’t cold, he just likes seeing her in his clothes. The fact that they’re so oversized on her just makes it even more endearing.

But, as he takes in the sight of her, he also knows this was an opportunity he can’t pass up. 

Falling into domesticity together had been wonderful, but one of the _best_ parts was realizing that neither had given up their ornery streak along the way. It had become something of a pastime of theirs, lovingly finding ways to get under the other’s skin. Never in a rude way, or a cruel way, or in some kind of warped competition to show the other who was “boss.” There was no humiliation, no degradation- not in their house, ever. Nor was it the petty cycle of revenge he’d seen some of his old friends from the city fall into. 

Unsurprisingly, those friendships didn’t last long, and he was better off for it.

For Shane and her, it was something different- the only goal was to get an exasperated sigh and a laugh out of the other. A shake of the head, a roll of the eyes. To get that sparkle in the other’s eye as they tried to keep from smiling. 

Turns out, there were a lot of ways to do that. 

When it was cold out, his wife would come inside and press her frigid little hands against him. When he got something off the top of the cabinet for her, he’d hold it over her head and ask her to say “please.” She’d snatch the last slice of pizza right before he could reach for it, (but she always surrendered it immediately after) and sometimes his hands would find her ticklish ribs when they hugged. 

It was nice, especially whenever they found themselves at the end of serious or gloomy conversations, where, mood permitting, such antics had become something of standard protocol for them. 

But last week, Shane was pretty sure he’d stumbled across a new, more effective form of this kind of tomfoolery. 

He’d been over by the fridge when she came back from a night of fishing. She commented on the chill of the night while stowing her rod away, and he leaned back against the fridge, complaining to her with a groan that he’d eaten too much dipping sauce. Then it happened. 

He burped, and his stomach let out the most unflattering possible noise.

She _entirely_ stopped in her tracks. For a moment, he thought he saw her soul leave her body. After several moments of her best statue impression, she finally came back to life. She shook her head with a breathy laugh, the look of total alarm still etched into her face.

“Shane…” she faced him, speaking with all the speed of a glacier, “Light of my life, _I love you,_ but... that was…” She paused to find her words, her hand stopping mid-gesture. Her eyes flitted around the room before meeting his again, and with a final bob of her head, she found the words she was looking for: _“Fucking disgusting.”_

And he knew from the look on her face that he hit the jackpot.

So, tonight, as she sits next to him, peacefully enjoying the sunset, the impulse for him to make some mischief takes hold. 

Shane finishes his can of Joja Cola, crushes it in his hand, and leans back to gather his energy. Then, he unleashes a belch that can probably be heard from Zuzu City. Immediately, he turns to watch his wife’s reaction, the smile already forming on his face. 

Her eyes had flown open, but she was otherwise frozen. He watches, delightedly, as a look of horror spreads across her face as she processes his transgression. Slowly, she turns to him, mouth still hanging open in surprise. She looks to the picturesque, romantic sunset, and back to him once more.

He speaks before she can.

“Careful there sweetheart, a bug’ll fly in.” 

Her mouth snaps shut. He feels his grin widen even further as her eyes scan the fields in front of them like they’ll give her a response. Finally, she leans toward him, a look of total incredulity taking over her face.

“...Can you _behave?”_

And with that, he busts out laughing, full and loud, as he falls back against the deck onto his elbows. When he looks over at her, she’s looking at him, eyes gleaming in the pale orange light- that reluctant smile tugging on her lips. 

_Mission accomplished._

“You’re _so_ gross.”

He laughs again, but it turns into more of a wheeze. Once he catches his breath, he heaves himself back up and brings his arm around her. Clearly, she’s not too mad, because she lets him, and she hugs his arm closer to her as she looks off to the horizon. His voice is soft as he kisses the flyaway hairs of her temple.

“You love me anyway.”

He takes one of her hands in his left, bringing it to his lips, bargaining for her forgiveness. She huffs, turning to bury her face into his jacket.

The last few minutes of the sunset are as lovely as ever, and soon, as they get ready to head inside for the night, his wife gets back at him. 

As she tells him that she does indeed love her big, gross husband, she winds one of her arms behind his head, bracing the other against his chest. Feeling his cheeks flush, he goes to close the gap between their lips. Before he can, she pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and yanks the drawstrings. With something like a cackle, she leaves him sitting on the deck, laughing and trying to tame his disheveled hair as he stands up to join her inside. 

They spend the rest of the evening inside together, indulging in one of their _other_ pastimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you married Shane in-game, then you know the about the unbelievably cursed "all-purpose dipping sauce" line I referenced in this chapter, and I'd like to apologize to you firsthand if that was something you blocked that out of your memory lmao
> 
> Personally, my soul hasn't known peace since I laid eyes on that shit. This chapter is me desperately trying to re-contextualize it into something that doesn't feel like I'm being punched in the face by a box of text, more for my own sanity than for any enjoyment of the poor souls who stumble across my work


	6. Reclamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane does something about the Joja logo on his hoodie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's more of a flashback.

On the fifth day of their marriage, Shane joined his wife _(Wife! Holy shit!)_ in the kitchen as she made breakfast, thoughtlessly shrugging on his blue Joja hoodie as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. When he came up to her from behind and wrapped his arms around her with a sleepy hum, she turned to him, her face lighting up as she pushed the eggs around in the pan. 

“Morning, handsome.” 

He scoffed at that (back then that was always his reaction) and turned his head to press a kiss to her cheek as she looked back at the eggs. He brushed some hair out of her face, enjoying the feeling of her relaxing into his chest. 

As she finished cooking the eggs, he went to get some plates from the cabinet. When he turned to deliver them to her, she was looking at him with a frown, her eyebrows drawn together. He felt his heart skip a beat as he waited, bracing himself for whatever she was going to say. 

In that brief moment before she spoke, he was suddenly acutely aware of every possible fault she could find with him: he wasn’t tall enough, he was messy, he had a bad case of morning breath, he wasn’t very romantic, the antidepressant he’d been switched to was making him gain wei- 

“We should do something about the Joja logo on your hoodie.” She turned off the stove and set the spatula down, like she _hadn’t_ just blown all his fears out of the water with such a simple sentence. 

And suddenly, with the foundation to all his worries revealed to be sand, the little neurons in his brain completely shorted out. He looked at her dumbly, then looked down at his hoodie, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a response. Luckily, he didn’t have to. As he silently floundered, she was busy thinking out loud as she took the plates from his hands. 

“Maybe we could have Emily do something about it. She could remove it, right? Hmm, but that might mess it up, and that thing looks like it’s been through enough already.” With a chuckle, she transferred the eggs from the pan to the plates, before continuing her musings. 

“Oohh, or maybe we could cover it up with a little patch! I think I saw a few you might like last time I was in Zuzu City, maybe we could make a day of it this weekend. If you want to that is, it’s _your_ jacket after all-” 

She seemed to have noticed he hadn’t moved from his spot, because after she set the plates on the table, she turned to him and waved her hand in front of his face with a giggle. 

“Hellooo? Earth to Shane?” 

He blinked and refocused his eyes. He looked down and took in the sight of her, standing in the gentle light of the morning with a soft smile on her face, and found that he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her into an embrace. After a confused laugh, she happily returned it. 

“That excited about giving that jacket a makeover?” 

He let out a laugh himself, feeling the creases in his forehead melt away as he held her in his arms. After tucking his head down to kiss her hair, he finally found something to say: 

“I just love you, babe. That’s all.” 

He didn’t have to see her face to know she had smiled at that. After another moment, his brain finished rebooting and he snapped back to life, kissing her forehead as he pulled away. 

“Come on babe, breakfast is gonna get cold.” 

That night, after passing his scruffy visage in the mirror, he found himself agreeing with his wife. For the first time in a long time, he actually _saw_ the logo on his hoodie. He frowned at his reflection, and realized he wasn't eager to spend any longer than he already had displaying what suddenly seemed like a brand to him. 

And so they made good on her idea and took a bus to the city that weekend. They'd intended to spend the afternoon scouring the shops, but they quickly found most of the patches she remembered were either long out of stock or too small to cover up the logo. After that, it didn’t take long for them to get sidetracked- shifting their attention to look for a gift for Jas as they passed a toy store. 

At first, the doll section had caught his eye, but then he turned to see his wife flipping through a book about fairies, and _then_ he remembered that how Jas had complained that she had run out of coloring books last week. All the sudden, it was an hour later, and they were leaving the store with an entire bag full of gifts. 

“Well, on the bright side, I think we just knocked out some of our Winter Star shopping today.” 

Shane chuckled at that. It was fall. The Winter Star festival was still a ways away- though, perhaps this was for the best, because the idea of him trying to brave a toy store in the weeks preceding the holiday was enough to put him in a cold sweat. 

They headed back to the nearest bus stop, ready to call it a day. Fine with him. He was a man of simple pleasures, and he was looking forward to enjoying a box of pizza together on the couch tonight. Upon realizing the bus wouldn’t arrive for another 25 minutes, his wife suggested they pop into the nearest store to pass the time. 

And so they entered some “alternative” fashion store that neither of them had ever heard of before. Which didn’t mean much. Neither of them were particularly concerned with fashion. 

They awkwardly poked around, not actually intending to buy anything. Upon gravitating to a particularly egregious shirt, his wife made a face and curiously examined the price tag before dropping it like it burned her. 

Back in his day, these kinds of stores looked much different- usually full of the shit Sebastian wore nowadays. When he mentioned that to his wife, she raised her eyebrows and asked him if he shopped in those kinds of places frequently back then. 

He scoffed, but admitted that _maybe,_ there just _might_ have been a month or two- back in his first years of highschool- when he _perhaps_ found his clothes from those kinds of places. Around the time he grew out his hair, but before he made it onto the varsity team- 

“You grew out your hair?” Shane froze in his tracks. He’d said too much. Reluctantly, he gave her a very slow, cautious nod, one almost imperceptible to the human eye. 

_Oh thank god Marnie’s never shown her the pictures, then._

She was incredulous, her laugh told him that much. Fine by him. The less she, or _anyone_ really, knew of that time, the better. He changed the subject, but not before narrowing his eyes and sternly telling her that they would not speak of the matter again. She only laughed. 

They spent most of the next few minutes holding up shirts mockingly until something caught his eye. He picked it up, basked in awe at it for a moment, then turned to his wife with an excited smile, holding it up for her to see. 

It was a large circular iron-on patch with a chicken on it, the border housing the phrase “CLUCK OFF” in big, bold letters. Eagerly, he awaited his wife’s reaction. She laughed and shook her head, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she snickered at it. 

“Oh, that’s _so_ corny... You have to get it. _You have to.”_

And so he did, completely unphased by the look the girl at the register gave him. Not his fault kids these days don't know absolutely _phenomenal_ humor when they see it.

When they got back to town, they made a beeline for Emily’s house. Emily, in the middle of preparing for her shift, took one look at the patch, laughed, and offered to apply it later. Figuring that the ironing process should be left to more experienced hands, they’d nodded and left his hoodie in her charge. 

When Jas and Marnie came over to their house for dinner a few days later, Shane- dressed in his usual attire- was halfway down the wooden steps to greet them before his eyes widened and he bolted back inside the house, clumsily shouting that he had to check on the pasta sauce. His wife watched, gently laughing while he fumbled with the zipper of his hoodie as the door shut behind him.

As the other three entered the house a few minutes later, Jas asked him why he was in such a rush to take off his jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> joth rights!


	7. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The town's latest pastime is bugging Shane and his wife about when they'll have kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's not as peppy as the others, but it's still sweet. 
> 
> (I think? I've been staring at the screen editing this for so long I don't know which way is up anymore, so sound off in the comments if it's actually just whack)

Just as Shane finishes up the last of the dishes, he hears the door open. Before he can greet his wife and boast about his productivity to her, he hears an aggravated huff escape her. His eyebrows draw together as he dries his hands and turns around to see her in the middle of kicking off her shoes by the door. 

Then, she marches his way. Without a word, she throws her arms around him. 

After steadying himself from the impact, he lets his arms reach around her with a confused frown. His muscle memory kicks in and one of his palms starts making its trail up and down her back. She hugs him tighter, and his voice, low and gentle, breaks the silence.

“Bad day?”

He feels her vigorous nod against his chest, and as he looks to the clock, she speaks.

“I just-” she huffs again, intent to bury herself into his chest as far as she can. When she finds her words, he can tell she’s trying to talk herself down from whatever’s struck her nerve. “I’m just frustrated right now- It’s stupid.” 

He knows her well. If she’s trying to rationalize her anger like this, then whatever’s caught her ire her is minor and manageable, but most definitely not _stupid._ That’s just not an applicable word in these contexts, he’s come to learn over the years. A nice little piece of wisdom he’d gained from his shrink in the city- not from some kind of argument with her. (He’s seen those cartoons in the Zuzu City Times depicting marriage, and unlike the artists that drew them, _he_ actually gives a shit about his wife.)

He turns his thoughts present. Right now, his wife is upset about something, and he should be listening to her instead of gloating to himself about how much he loves her. Thankfully, his mental detour hadn’t lasted long enough for him to miss anything, and just after he turns his focus back to her, she continues her thoughts:

“I’m just sick of everyone being so goddamn nosy.”

 _Nosy?_ He makes a face. As gossip prone as the town was, the town had been content to mind their own business for the most part, except to waggle their eyebrows and ask them when-

_Oh. Of course._

_The questions._ Seemingly the moment they got married, the questions started. About when they’d “start a family,” as if the two of them, Jas, and Marnie weren’t family enough. As if their marriage was void until an offspring was produced. 

It irked him to no end, especially since they’d agreed long ago that it probably wasn’t going to be a feature of their marriage- to him, it felt like sidelining his responsibility to Jas, (which he’d done enough of already) and for her, the idea of pregnancy was just something she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for. 

They agreed that in ten years from now, they probably wouldn’t be sending a kid off to one of Penny’s tutoring sessions- instead, they’d be pouring over college pamphlets at the kitchen table with Jas. 

Not that the townspeople cared, of course. Any conversations of the sort were shot down almost immediately with _“Oh, you’ll change your minds eventually”_ and an- ironically- "knowing" wink.

After their first anniversary a few months ago, the town’s fascination had gotten noticeably worse. At Spirit’s Eve, while they were getting some food, they spoke to Caroline- who seemed very intent on espousing the joys of parenting. Like she was seeking converts. Another time, after the Egg Festival, Lewis had clapped him on the shoulder and asked him when Pelican Town was getting its newest resident. When he dropped by Pierre’s last week, he’d been jokingly asked when he was going to start buying for three.

“Nosy” is a good word for it, and probably a more charitable term than anything he’d choose to call it. As Shane holds his wife in his arms, he gives his acknowledgement in the form of holding her a little closer for a moment.

“I know what you mean. Who was it this time?”

With a final squeeze and a fatigued sigh, his wife pulls away. As she heads to the cabinet and pulls out a glass, she fills in the details for him. 

“Robin. I was over at her place, delivering something for Demetrius’s research.”

She goes to the sink and fills it with water, shaking her head. 

“She pulls me over on my way out, and tells me she has time to stop by this weekend and take measurements for _when_ we want to add a nursery.”

She scoffs and turns off the water. She finishes her thoughts as she sits down at the dining room table, looking out the window with her chin resting on her hand. 

“I dunno. It’s not a big deal obviously, but…” she shakes her head once more, as if it could somehow dismiss the problem entirely. “I’m just getting real tired of it.” 

She brings the glass to her lips as Shane comes to sit across from her, leaning back in his chair, letting his hands rest on the table. He drums his fingers idly against the wood as he tries not to let this ongoing mess spike his blood pressure _too_ much. 

It’s only a few moments after setting the glass down before she reaches a hand out to wrap around his, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand. After a moment, she meets his eyes with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry I barged in like that. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You _live_ here. I think you’re allowed to enter however you like.”

She laughs at his dry attempt at humor. Then, she brings his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles. He feels himself blush, and he fights the fleeting urge to shake his hand away in response to the sheer sappiness of the gesture. He’s glad he doesn’t. Physical affection is her way of thanking him for listening to her, as it is for him- it’s the same tactic he uses after he vents to her. 

She changes the subject. 

“So how was your day?”

If he’s honest, today was definitely one of his “bad” days. He woke up late, feeling like shit, and it took him forty minutes to even get out of bed. It sucked, but at least he was able to muster up the energy to sweep and do the dishes. He tells her as much, and the smile that breaks across her face is gentle and genuine. She kisses his hand again before she speaks. 

“Even the pot we made spaghetti sauce in on Tuesday?” He nods.

“Even the pot we made spaghetti sauce in on Tuesday.” This makes her smile even wider. 

_“God,_ that’s _so_ hot.” Shane throws his head back and laughs at that, sudden and loud enough to earn himself a glare from the cat, who’s made herself at home on the couch and is none too happy to have her precious beauty sleep disturbed. His wife stands up from her spot, stretching before letting her hands rest on her hips. 

“Well, no use in dirtying up all your hard work. How does some pizza from the Saloon sound?”

She knows him so well. As he stands up himself, he notes that he’ll have to give her his gratitude for that sometime, perhaps in a nonverbal way. 

The day got even better when they got to the Saloon and realized the dish of the day was pepper poppers, which _obviously_ he tacked on to their order. 

Of course, good things can never last- his mood was killed when, upon hearing their order, Pam cackled from across the bar and asked which one of them was eating for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes a family can be Shane, his wife, Jas, and an entire flock of chickens and that's okay
> 
> also haha get it the chapter title is expectations and it's about when they'll be "expecting" ...see what i did there i feel very clever right now
> 
> ...ok yeah feel free to whack me upside the head for that one.


	8. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and his wife watch an old movie together.

Tonight, they’re watching an old black-and-white film, but to be honest, neither of them are paying much attention. It's not very interesting. His wife sits cross-legged on the couch, trying to plan for the next season of crops, hunched over a notebook and tapping her pencil thoughtfully against her chin. Meanwhile, he's gone to get refreshments.

Shane shuts the fridge, soda can in hand. On his way back to his spot, he pauses to give his attention to the movie once more. The actress onscreen is alone in a lavish room, in a lavish silk dress, clutching her lavish pearls and lamenting about her lover in the city. It’s all very classy.

...It’s also something neither of them are particularly acquainted with. He looks down at himself, in a faded old Tunnelers shirt, and at his wife, in an oversized teal shirt with a giant green “W” on it. He looks back to the screen- this time featuring a debonair man in a perfectly tailored suit- and he can’t help but feel...common. Unrefined. He knows it's foolish, and he'll probably spend the twenty minutes following the end of the movie in his own head, deconstructing this notion in great detail. Obviously, them not being _fucking movie stars_ isn't a shortcoming, and he shouldn't feel bad for it.

The cat at his feet begging for attention cuts off this mental lecture early. He sets his can down to pick her up. As he lifts her, his mind kicks into gear, and he speaks before he can consolidate his thoughts.

“Maybe we should go on a date. Something fancy.” Shane looks over to his wife, the cat slung over his shoulder, purring like a motor. She whips her head up to look at him from where she sits on the couch, her face scrunching up in confusion.

_“Huh?”_

“I don’t think we ever went on an actual 'date,' even back when we were dating…” He pauses to sift through his memory before shaking his head. “Yeah... I think the nicest place I ever took you was a _gridball_ game.”

“I had fun.”

“You didn’t even know what was happening.”

“Yeah, but it was still _fun._ ” She sets the notebook aside on the side table, and when she looks back his way, her eyes narrow in suspicion as she smiles. “Now, what’s this about a date? And what have you done with my real husband?”

Shane chuckles, but he just shrugs. Suddenly, he realizes how strange it must be to hear those words out of _his_ mouth. Him? Suggesting they go somewhere fancy? To a place that serves food that _hasn’t_ been deep fried? Maybe he _had_ been abducted by aliens.

“I dunno.” He looks back to the screen, watching the woman in silk put on her lipstick. “I mean, I kinda feel bad. I probably should’ve taken you somewhere nice by now, right?” He sets the cat down and joins her on the couch. She leans back and appraises the idea.

“I mean, I guess... if you were trying to follow the 'conventions' of dating, maybe… but,” She turns her head to movie and speaks as she watches the scene play out, her voice thoughtful. “Just because someone follows the conventions doesn’t necessarily make them a good partner. And you've been an _incredible_ husband without adhering to the mainstream idea of how relationships work. I wouldn’t worry about conventions.”

She's right- his wife had definitely been the pursuer in the relationship. She turns to look him dead in the eye before continuing, her lips tugging at a smile as she talks.

“I mean, we got engaged in a _chicken coop.”_

They did. That was also true.

Kind of. Their engagement wasn’t official until about a week later, but it _had_ started in the chicken coop. It was a cute story.

It was towards the end of Fall- he’d come over to spend his day off with her while she did her chores around the farm. He’d offered to help her clean the coop, and while he worked, he got lost in one of his long, heated rants about Joja.

That day, he was complaining to her- in vivid colors- that holiday season was around the corner. Specifically, that if he heard one more goddamn Winter Star song before Winter actually came, he’d personally strangle Morris with one of the pine garlands strung around the store.

He was ten minutes into his tirade- at the part where he pointed out that it wasn’t even Spirit’s Eve yet. While miming the strangulation with his hands, she cut him off, her voice both reverent and entirely serious.

“Move in with me.”

And when he froze in his spot, hands still mid-gesture, she continued.

“Quit your job and move in with me. Work on the farm, we can run it together. I can split the profits with you, make you a co-owner. I- I don’t know how, I think it involves a lot of paperwork, but that way you don’t have to marry me to-”

“I’ll marry you.”

He'd blurted it out without even thinking.

They stared at each other for a while after that.

"...I'll marry you." He said it again with a nod- he’d mulled it over and realized he meant it.

"Okay," Her voice was so fragile. His was gentle, hardly a whisper as he ventured a little further.

“We could get married.”

Her eyes shone as she smiled at him, like she could hardly believe him. But she looked happy, and her voice was so small and so full of emotion as she spoke, accepting his suggestion with watery eyes.

“We could get married.”

After a long, electric silence, they finally just nodded at each other like that settled the matter, and got back to work.

One stormy day the next week, when he got off from his shift, he found her standing outside waiting for him. Despite the weather, he smiled as he went to greet her. When he got close enough, she silently reached into her jacket.

She pulled out a Mermaid’s Pendant.

He'll never forget the look on her face as she stood there in the rain- the way she watched him approach with her lips slightly parted, looking at him like he was something magical. Or the the look in her wide eyes as she pulled out the pendant- so full of love, yet still so nervous as they met his. He still remembers the feeling of his breath hitching in his throat as the shell caught the light.

Shane hated rainy days. And he wasn't one to publicly show affection. But that day, the rules didn't matter.

He kissed her right there in front of the Jojamart, for the whole world to see. And they _were_ seen, because Sam congratulated him the next day, before they'd even told anyone-

The sounds from the movie bring him back from his memories. He shakes head, focusing on the movie. Right now, some kind or argument playing out between the man and the woman. Immediately, he has an idea of how the next ten minutes are going to play out.

_The man is the woman’s lover from the city. This is an old cheesy movie, so it’ll be revealed that their conflict is just a misunderstanding, and the woman will realize that she was wrong about the man. She’ll desperately come back to him and apologize, and the scene will probably end with a kiss._

He shakes his head again, trying to remember what he was going to say. After a few moments of trying to retrace his steps, he gives up. Instead, his wife fills the silence.

“Is this all because of the movie?” _Oh yeah, fancy date._ Before he can respond, she gets a conspiratorial look in her eye as she breaks out into a smile and nods back to the screen. “You just want to see me in a dress like that, don’t you?”

He laughs at the accusation, but no, he definitely _won’t_ pass up an opportunity to see that.

“That’s not the only reason, babe.” He shoots her a look as he gets up from the couch to get the can of Joja Cola he set down earlier. When he returns, she asks her next question.

“What’s the other reason?”

“I figure I should take you somewhere nice at least _once._ Might be fun to pretend we’re classy for a day.”

“Are you saying that me and my Wumbus shirt aren’t already _the height_ of class?” Her hand is brought to her chest in standard melodramatic flair, her eyebrows raised in indignation.

Shane chokes on his soda at this. When he sets the can down, his wife scoots to his side, curling up next to him. He lifts his arm, letting it rest on the back of the couch. The cat jumps up, taking claim of the spot where his wife just was. He leans his head down towards hers as they both turn their attention to the movie- where the heroine is aware of her mistake and trying to find the love interest at a crowded train station.

“You make a good point, babe. You and that Wumbus shirt are _full_ of class. Almost as classy as me and my chicken socks.” He kicks up a foot for emphasis and she snickers. He takes this moment to give her his prediction. “Also, she’s about to figure out she’s on the wrong train.”

Some two minutes later he’s proven correct- the film zooms in on her train ticket, and the score plays a suspenseful note. His wife sits up and faces him, a smile on her face. He shrugs, supplying her with a more arrogant line than usual.

“What can I say, I’m good.” Her smile grows, and she leans in a little closer to him. Her voice is quiet as she meets his gaze.

“Good enough to know what I’m about to do?” As he looks at her, the side of his mouth quirks up, and the noise of the movie fades into the background.

“I have a few ideas.”

And with that, their lips meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok im gonna be real with you guys, i did NOT proofread the first chapter to this fic before i posted it to this site. (and it shows)
> 
> point is, i went back and edited it so it's tolerable to future readers, (it's not so different, dont feel like u have to reread it) but i'd like to take the time here to thank everyone that read that thing in it's original state and stuck with this fic, ur support seriously means a lot to me bro
> 
> we've uh, we've come a long way  
> my sentences are a readable length and i now use 20% less commas!


	9. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Shane's birthday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning, I suppose? Brief mention of the six heart event. If that'll kill your vibe, feel free skip this one.

Today…. Well, it’s that one day towards the end of Spring. No, not the Flower Dance. Today is Shane’s birthday. Today, he’s thirty. _Ew._ He looks at himself in the mirror and realizes, as he does every year, that he’s getting older. He thinks the same thought about it every year too:

_Not a fan of that._

He shakes his head at his reflection and joins his wife for breakfast. While he’s eating, she places something in front of him.

A jar of... pickles? Upon a moment of inspection, he concludes that, yes- that’s definitely pickles. With a confused grimace, he sets his fork down and looks at her, and back the jar of _fucking_ pickles. Wrapped in a _fucking bow._

“You’re- you’re joking right? This is a joke.”

When she just tilts her head to the side, he feels his stomach drop a little. It drops even further when he hears the confusion in her voice.

“...No? It’s your birthday.”

He feels his lip involuntarily curling up in disgust as he looks back at the jar. He tries to think of a response that isn’t just _“Hey, what the fuck?”_ Surely this is a prank. It’s his birthday and his wife just gave him a jar of pickles. She’s his _wife-_ surely she knows him better than this. Which must mean it’s a joke, so why is she looking at him like he’s supposed to _thank her-_

Her lip twitches and she breaks out into a laugh. She leans off to the side of the table, doubling over and covering her mouth as the sound fills the kitchen. She looks up to shake her head at him before breaking into another fit of wheezing.

He lets out a sigh of relief. As he slumps back in the chair, he feels his muscles relax- he hadn't even realized they were tensed up. Under the table, she playfully gives him a gentle kick before she stands up, still giggling.

“Don’t worry old man, the real present’s at Marnie’s.”

_“Thank Yob_ \- Hey, who are you calling old?” After putting her plate away in the sink, she returns to his side.

In lieu of a response, she just smiles even wider and pulls him into a kiss. When she pulls away, she runs a hand through his hair, which he enjoys the sensation of- until her eyebrows furrow and her fingers trace his hairline.

“I think you’re going gra-”

“Oh, shut up.” He rolls his eyes at her teasing and pushes her hand away. He gets up and puts his dish in the sink as well, letting a hand brace the countertop as he turns back to her. “I’m only thirty.” He says it with a straight face, but it sounds like an oxymoron to him.

But then again, he’s been convinced he’s old since he turned _twenty,_ so maybe he just needs to relax. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when one of his wife’s hands comes to rest on his hip. Her lips meet his for just a moment before she speaks. As she does, her other hand comes to cover his on the countertop.

“Marnie said to come over around five so we could have dinner. There’s gonna be cake... I think?” She looks off to the distance trying to recall, and Shane snorts, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Oh, there’ll be cake. Marnie’ll take any excuse to serve cake. You know how she is.” And with a kiss to her forehead, he pushes off the counter and goes to get ready for the day.

The day starts, and they get to work. Shane heads to the coop, and she heads to fields. He collects the eggs, refills the food and water containers, and gets to work cleaning out the waste. He gives his once over of the coop perimeter, and gets to the next, and most important step:

Giving his beautiful girls some attention. (And today, treats!)

When he finishes the rest of his routine, he joins his wife out in the field. He finds her in the middle of harvesting parsnips, the cat right by her side, as usual. He squats down by her other side, watching her work. As she pulls another up and sets it to the side, she looks at him.

“You gonna help, birthday boy?” He chuckles, and gives her his most loving smile as he shakes his head.

“Nope.”

As she shakes her head and pulls up the last parsnip, he continues.

“What can I say? I’m getting too old for that. You’re on your own.” And with that, he stands back up and heads back towards the house, leaving her to her work. “Gotta rest my old bones. Have fun, babe!”

“Oh, _come on!”_ He laughs at her exasperated cry, but doesn’t turn around. When he usually does this kind of thing, he’ll walk a few feet before turning around and helping her. Today… it’s just not in the cards for her. He’s feeling ornery.

Hell, it’s his _birthday-_ what better excuse to kick back for the day? He hears her laugh behind him.

“Not my fault you can’t keep up with my youthful vigor anymore! Get well soon!” He shakes his head. _"Youthful vigor."_ Outrageous. He loves her.

She doesn’t get done for another two hours. When she finally does enter the farmhouse, she comes behind where he sits on the couch and drapes her arms around him. Hunching so her head is level with his, she gives his cheek a kiss in greeting.

“You really left me out to dry huh?” Shane can’t stop the grin from making its way across his face.

“Payback for trying to give me pickles on my birthday.” She gives an amused huff at that, letting her chin rest on his shoulder.

“You’re ruthless, Shane. You know that, right? Ice cold.”

“You love me for it,” he turns his head to kiss her cheek. “Keeps you coming back for more, doesn't it? Has been since we first met.” She visibly flushes at that, but before she can respond, the smile fades from his face. He turns around to actually face her, mock arrogance replaced with earnestness.

“I really am sorry about the way I treated you, babe. I know it hurt y-” She cuts him off with a kiss and joins him on the couch.

“You apologize for this every three months, Shane. Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t about me. That’s why I stuck around.”

“I know, but-”

“You needed support. And if that meant I’d have to face that grumpy exterior of yours to be there for you…” She breaks out into a little grin, one of her hands at his collarbone as she brings her face closer to his. “That’s not even a contest.” She kisses him, her hands coming up to his face.

It’s an incredible feeling, but he also knows when she pulls away, this wholesome, sappy conversation will continue. He’s not opposed to that- but if it goes on too long, his voice will break and he’ll inevitably start crying. And then she’ll start crying- even if it's only because he is- and then they’ll both be crying on his birthday.

Not ideal.

So when the kiss ends, he brushes her hair behind her ear and changes the subject.

“...You do realize I’m going to be the grumpiest old man on the planet, right? I’m gonna spend _so_ much time yelling at youngsters to get off my lawn.” His wife snickers at that, clearly trying to conjure up the image in her head. Once she does, she laughs harder, burying her face in his arm slung across the back of the couch. After a moment, she turns her head and looks out the window, the smile still gracing her lips.

“...I think I’ll become one of those overly competitive bingo players.”

He barks out a laugh at that. That sounds about right. He watches her look out the window, admiring the way the sunlight hits her hair, and his lips form a smile of their own accord.

Then, it all hits him.

_God._ Look at him. Thirty. Free from Joja. Sitting on the couch with his wife. _Smiling._ Talking about growing old together.

Suddenly, the warm afternoon light, the mundane noises from TV, the sight of his wife sitting next to him, relaxed and content, like his side is a _home_ for her- it’s… it’s surreal.

This is the idyllic future he was certain he’d never have. The light at the end of the tunnel that he was convinced was a mirage. An impossible, unacceptable outcome, not even worth considering. If you asked him three years ago where he’d be now, this wouldn’t have even been an _option._

_And to think he-_

His blood freezes, and it’s like the air has been knocked out of him. He wordlessly, _instinctually,_ reaches his arm around his wife, pulling her towards him, holding her as close as he can. She's happy to oblige, smiling as she returns the embrace. She lets out a contented little hum as she rests her head against his chest, cuddling closer to him.

They turn their attention to the TV. As an old sitcom intro plays, he feels the stinging in his eyes.

He presses a kiss to her hair and tries _really_ hard not to cry on his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her present was a season pass to the gridball stadium in case you were wondering


	10. Clothing Therapy Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane doesn't know how he lets himself get talked into this shit.

In Pelican Town, there’s no such thing as a “mundane” festival. Every damn time- rain, snow, or shine- one or more of the following happens:

A) Someone causes a scene (Luau, some four or five years ago- Sam and the anchovies. At least it was funny.)

B) Something falls over or otherwise breaks (Last winter- Alex, Sam, and Abigail knocked over the Winter Star tree. He’s still not sure how. At least no one got hurt.)

C) He gets roped into something he’ll regret. (Flower Dance. _Every. Year.)_

This year, the Egg Festival is going surprisingly well. So far, none of the above have happened. Yet. 

Shane knows it probably won’t be long, though. In the meantime, he’s perfectly content to enjoy the beautiful weather as he stands by the punch bowl. These past few years, he’s taken it upon himself to keep an eye on it. He’s not sure exactly who’d been spiking the punch, but since he started guarding it, there hasn’t been an incident. Last thing he needs is Jas getting a hold of something like that. The thought alone is enough to sour his expression.

This year (since apparently he doesn't have anything better to do) he spends the afternoon narrowing it down to two suspects:

First guess: Abigail. With that mischievous streak of hers... Maybe she would? He doesn't know her well, but he supposes it wouldn’t surprise him if it turned out to be her. 

But as he idly scratches his stubbly jaw, watching her win the egg hunt, _again,_ he frowns. As he thinks about it more, he changes his mind. _Nah. She’s relentless._ If she wanted to sneak some sauce into the punch, she’d probably find a way- with or without him standing guard. 

Which leaves his only other remaining guess….Pam. 

He tunes out his surroundings and mulls over the evidence, but his theorizing is cut short when a hand waves in front of his face. As he blinks in surprise, he hears Emily’s signature laugh. Apparently she’d said something, and by the look on her face… Well. They’ve known each other long enough. He knows that expression all too well. 

She’s about to make a suggestion- one they both know he won’t be a fan of. 

Shane got that look all the time back when he frequented the Saloon- and it only increased tenfold after his wife moved to town. 

Before they’d started dating, she always found her way to his spot in the Saloon. She'd try to make conversation, he’d down his glass and grumble out a sparse response with a shrug, and she’d leave- but not without looking over her shoulder to toss a joke and a radiant smile is way. The _minute_ the door shut behind her, Emily would swoop in- that very same look on her face, ready with a thousand suggestions for him. 

_“You should let her be nice to you, Shane. It can’t hurt.”_  
_“I think she likes you, her aura’s so bright around you.”_  
_“Maybe you should show her how good you are at pool. Do it tomorrow, the stars will give you luck.”_  
_“Shane, you should ask her to the Flower Dance next week-”_

He’d scoffed at each and every one of those. And yet... Her advice (whenever he was smart enough to take it) had never led him astray. Sure, her weird crystal/aura/energy talk sounds like nonsense to him, but her intuition's never anything less than spot on.

Which means he’d better listen to her this time, too. 

So, he raises his eyebrow at her, and she fills him in on her idea this time. As he listens, he feels his face scrunch up.

_Clothing…_

_...Therapy?_

_What the hell?_

Emily looks at him with expectant eyes, a smile already on her face.

“So? Are you coming?”

Her fingers drum on the tablecloth of the buffet table, and she’s gracefully bouncing on her toes. He grimaces and looks at his glass of punch. He grunts. It’s noncommittal and disdainful- not that it’s ever been enough to sway Emily. He’s all bark and no bite and she knows it.

...So does most of the town, nowadays. Unfortunately. He takes a moment to sarcastically mourn his reputation. 

Emily tilts her head and fixes him with a curious look, blue hair flowing in the spring breeze- right. She asked a question. 

His brain takes a moment to recall the conversation at hand...and _Ah yes. "Clothing Therapy."_

He shakes his head. 

“I think it could do you some good, Shane.” Her voice is calm and confident as ever, soothing and self-assured, like she already knows this conversation is going to end with him giving in. 

Shane frowns. Maybe it will, but he's not done making annoyed faces about it yet. He shoots her the same dubious, unamused look he always does. Complete with the raised eyebrow.

“You do realize I’m going to _actual_ therapy now, right?”

She doesn’t break her gaze at all- it's as if he's found himself in a staring contest with a statue. (He never was good at eye contact. That's another reason he gets along so well with his wife- she's just as bad at it as he is. In fact, they probably spent more time looking at their shoes than at each other in the first few months of their relationship.) 

After a moment too many under her intense gaze, he looks up to the clouds and gives a long-suffering sigh, dragging out the last of the exhale as long as he can before he meets her eyes once more. 

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

Her face brightens and she bounces away, and he mentally smacks himself. 

_Option C) roped into something ridiculous._

_Goddammit. Every damn time._

Ten minutes later, his wife returns from a conversation with Robin. She joins him at the buffet table, and he notices she's staring very intently at her punch, swirling it around in her cup. 

Her current expression is very familiar, the same one he had on his face not so long ago. 

He can’t help himself. He chuckles. 

Her head whips up, indignance clear as day, but he shakes his head before she can say anything. The smile is easy on his face as his hand comes to meet her shoulder, his voice only loud enough for her ears.

“Clothing therapy?” 

She purses her lips and nods. His gives her a reassuring squeeze, and she closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and practically melts under his calloused fingers. He lets his hand stay, and before he can question the decision too much, his wife cracks an eye open and looks up at him. 

“She asked you too?” Shane silently nods, his hand massaging the tension out of her shoulder. 

They love Emily- they really do. She’s sweet, kind, and thoughtful beyond words- it’s just that he and his wife are too skeptical for their own good. At the various self-help sessions Emily hosts, the (weirdly intense) spirituality of it goes right over their heads. The two just end up vigorously nodding along, trying to keep the doubt from their faces.

But Emily’s a friend. And she’s only trying to help. 

Shane's hand falls to her waist. He lets it linger there- if only for a brief moment- before he shoves it into his pocket. He brings his cup to his wife’s in toast, a dry grin spreading across his face. 

“Well then... see you at clothing therapy, babe.” 

She snorts.

Later, as they leave, Sam fumbles the ball Alex passes him. It lands in the (non-alcoholic, _you're welcome)_ punch bowl, thoroughly soaking Hayley in the process. 

She turns her head and descends on the two like a hawk, and Shane shakes his head with a smile.

_No such thing as an uneventful festival in Pelican Town._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea when the next part will get finished, but feel free to pass the time by dropping a comment!


	11. Clothing Therapy 2

So, maybe wearing all black leather in the the late-spring heat wasn’t Shane’s best idea.

He leans on the picket fence of the mayor's house, waiting for his wife to join him. “Clothing Therapy” wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be. Sure, he probably looks like a scruffier, washed-up Sebastian, but he doesn’t really have it in him to care. He’d spent his highschool years trying to find both the funds and the courage to wear something like this- he might as well try it once. 

He’s not sure he’ll be doing it again anytime soon though. It’s not very practical, especially in this heat. 

He wipes his brow and rubs his face, taking care not to smear eyeshadow everywhere. Well- not anymore than it already is smeared across his face. Even back when he tried to pull this look off in highschool (only for a month, but it was a very valiant effort) he never used a brush, and he’s certainly not about to start now. 

The door opens, and his wife bounces down the stairs. 

...She looks like she walked straight out of a department store ad from 40 years ago. 

“You chose that? _Voluntarily?”_ He pushes himself off the fence with a grin- she looks incredible, that part goes without saying. Besides, it’s so much more fun to tease her. She scoffs and crosses her arms with a smile. 

“Says the guy in all leather- it’s supposed to get up to eighty-five today, you do realize that, right?” 

“I’m starting to, yeah.” 

Instead of responding, her eyes linger on him. Eventually she speaks, her voice even and rational. 

“We should get back to the farm.”

He nods. About time. He’s eager to get out of the heat- he gestures for her to lead the way, but she doesn’t move. After a few awkward seconds, she speaks, staring at his dark lips the whole time. 

“… I think the potatoes are ready to be harvested. And… the mayo machine’s probably done by now.” She trails off, but after a moment, she nods resolutely at the statement. 

Finally, she tears her eyes away. She takes a deep breath and marches past him without a second glance. As he follows, he tries to determine her mood as they make their way through the main square, both of them ignoring the raised eyebrows and double-takes they get from the townspeople. 

He’s not sure if it’s just a shock to see him dressed like this, or if she’s weirded out, or if she likes it- she’s a hard woman to read when she wants to be. She makes it that much harder with her silence. He can’t use her facial expressions as a gage either- she doesn’t look at him at all as they head home. Instead, her head darts between looking to the trees, the sky, her shoes- everywhere but him. 

He doesn’t have to wonder for long, though. He gets his answer once they’re out of sight of the townsfolk, shaded under the trees by the bus stop. 

Abruptly, his wife stops. He stops too, brows furrowing, ready to ask what’s wrong. Before he can even get the words out, her hands are at the studded collar of his vest, pulling him to her lips. 

Between fervent kisses, her voice is a frenzied whisper.

 _“Shane- Shane, look at you-_ _ **holy shit-”**_ He smiles against her lips. So she’s a _fan._ He knew she'd be supportive- but he wasn’t expecting her to be this receptive. 

Not that he’s complaining. 

His hands come to her waist, and before he gets too involved in returning the appreciation he's getting, he shoots another look towards the town square. It’s a cursory glance, more out of habit than any real concern- they both know no one can see them. The bus stop is always empty. Damn thing’s been out of order since before he moved here- fortunately for their purposes. 

They’ve been using it as a makeout spot since they started dating. He’d walk her home from the Saloon, and as he got more comfortable in their relationship, it became more and more frequent- they’d pass this place, talking in the night, and somehow, eventually, she’d end up sitting on the wooden fence. At that point, her legs would inevitably wrap around his waist, his lips at her neck as she whispered his name into the dark. 

Nowadays, they’re married, they live in the same house, they get much more privacy. Really, there’s no need to find places to hide like this...but half the fun is the fact that they haven’t been caught yet. His discomfort with public affection just means they have to get more creative- and over the years, they've found plenty of places to indulge themselves in.

But there’s nothing wrong with a classic. And, as usual, the coast is clear. 

So, with a mischievous grin, he meets her eyes. There's color on her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away as she returns the grin. Next thing he knows, they’re kissing again. Without a second thought, he pushes her back against a nearby tree and lifts her up, delighting in the feeling of her muscular thighs under his fingers. She gasps against his mouth, and he can only smile wider. 

He’s been using that trick since his gridball days. He may have let himself go since then, but between his days working at Joja and helping Marnie at the ranch, and all the work he does on the farm now, his biceps haven’t gone anywhere. The definition might be long gone, but he’s not planning on letting that stop him from showing off, especially to his wife. 

She breaks the kiss, pulling back with a laugh, breathless. Her cheeks are flushed as her hands come to either side of his face, excitement shining in her eyes.

“This day just gets better and better for me-” He laughs and kisses her jaw, not bothering to contain his self-satisfied huff when he sees the smudges of black his lips leave behind.

“You like the getup? I haven’t dressed like this since highschool-” 

_“Yoba,_ why’d you ever stop?” He chuckles and shrugs, but before he can give her a response, she takes his face in her hands once more and kisses him again, the smile reaching her eyes. 

“What’d I ever do to deserve such a pretty husba-” 

Before she finishes, he tenses, his grip on her tightening. 

Something’s not right. 

He can feel it, the weight of someone’s gaze on his back. He turns his head to the side, the loving smirk falling from his face, melting into something more aggressive as his narrowed eyes land on the interloper. 

His voice is harsher than he means it to be.

_**“The fuck do you want, Clint?”**_

He’s not sure how he keeps his composure as his wife’s hands slide from his jaw and come to rest at his collarbones. When he hears her mutter something-something _“so hot,”_ it’s nothing short of a miracle that he’s able to hold Clint's gaze. His expression (somehow) remains unchanged as Clint stumbles over his words. 

“Well… I… I didn’t realize- You seem busy-”

 _“I sure am-_ spit it out or get lost.” 

His harsh demeanor surprises even him. If he’d snapped at anyone else like that, he’d feel a lot worse. But, given the circumstances, he doesn’t feel too bad. 

Clint’s grandiose self-pity has been reaching new heights these past few months. Frankly, Shane’s patience for it has been wearing thin lately- especially after he overheard Clint lament to Willy that _“Even Shane has a girl, women only like men who are rude- they never bother with a nice guy like me-”_ at the Saloon one Friday night. 

Yeah. His sympathy ran dry a while ago. 

Clint withers under his cold stare. 

“I.. I was hoping to talk to you Shane. Man to man-” Shane scoffs, and from the corner of his eye, he sees his wife make a face.

“Just spit it out, Clint.”

Shane watches, unimpressed, as Clint holds his hands up in surrender.

“Fine! If you insist- I… I thought you deserved to know. Her and Emily-” Clint’s gaze shifts to his wife in his arms. She seems just as confused as Shane, so Clint elaborates:

“I think they’re going behind your back. Seeing each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! The melodrama! The shock! The horror! Could it be true?!?!?!
> 
> Of course not, this is a fluff only fic, don't worry your pretty little heads  
> Clint "nice guys finish last" StardewValley gets the lecture he's so desperately needed the entire game next chapter, so stay tuned for that
> 
> yes this is a three parter now i cant help myself 
> 
> ... I'm gonna go take a midterm now. Have a good day y'all. Don't do anything Joth King Shane wouldn't do.


	12. Clothing Therapy 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This a trilogy now, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "various one-shots" im a liar, im sorry i lied to you all in the tags, I promise this is the end of this arc

His wife… and _Emily?_

Yeah fucking right. And he’s king of the damn republic. 

Shane’s not a fucking idiot. Sure, _he_ might think that he’s not good enough for his wife, and _he’ll_ sometimes wonder why she ever settled for a guy like him- but those are thoughts only he thinks. His wife wouldn't ever- not in a million years. He knows that. 

He’s not a fucking idiot, and he doesn’t take his wife for one either- if she didn’t like what she woke up next to every morning, she wouldn’t have married him. And the fact that this accusation is coming from Clint, of all people- 

That alone is enough for Shane to dismiss the idea with a scoff. Which he does. 

As he stares Clint down with something like a snarl, his wife taps his shoulder- her way of signaling she wants to be put down. He silently obliges, neither of them breaking their gaze from Clint, who suddenly seems very uncomfortable. He fidgets with his hands as he tries to elaborate.

“H- Her and Emily, I- I _saw_ them when I went back into the mayor’s house-” His wife puts her hands on her hips at this. She tilts her head innocently, but there’s an icy challenge in her tone. A livid incredulity, one he’s glad he’s never heard directed his way. 

“Saw us doing what, Clint?” Clint swallows and tries to string together a sentence, hardly able to meet her eyes. 

“W-well... I mean… You two were talking-” 

Shane doesn’t stop the bark of a laugh that escapes him. If he didn't already know any better, he’d clap him on the shoulder and tell him that was a hilarious joke.

But this is the real world, where they can’t have nice things, and they both know Clint’s too dense to be that funny. Instead, Shane sighs, the disdain creeping into his voice as he takes his turn interrogating Clint.

_“That’s_ your evidence? My wife had a conversation with Emily?” He intended to stop there, but this a prime opportunity for a few sarcastic jabs. Before he can think better of it, he’s already running his mouth, gesturing broadly. “Hell of a case- I’m sold. What a scandal. Did she show some ankle too?”

Clint gives him a look. A stern look- like he should know better, and his gruff voice coated in a careful leeriness, like his words hold some ruinously grave, damning information. 

“They were standing close. Smiling. I walked in on them.” _Okay, so?_ Shane gestures and impatiently waits for him to finish, but apparently that’s the end of the sentence. 

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, save for the breeze sifting through the trees. Again, if it wasn’t happening to him, he’d be laughing. 

“So. My wife stood too close to Emily-” He rolls his eyes before continuing. “Anything _else_ you’d like to present to the court?”

“No… But-”

His wife lets out a noise of frustration. 

_**“But**_ you’ve got a serious problem pal!” Clint’s head snaps to her, and his eyes widen. She’s ferocious as she advances towards him, pointing his way, her voice commanding all his attention. He takes a step back. 

“Wh-”

“No- you listen to me! If the first thing you think when you see two women smiling and talking to each other- actually no, this is bigger than that. If your first thought is _seduction_ when you see a woman smile, then you’ve got some serious shit you need to work through, buddy.”

Clint throws his hands up. Shane already knows what’s about to come next, and when Clint opens his mouth, he’s proven right:

“How am _I_ supposed to know the ways of-'' Shane can’t stop himself from interrupting, his arms folding across his chest- _wait, when did the vest get unzipped?_

No matter.

“The ‘inscrutable female species’ doesn’t exist, Clint.” 

Clint flounders, and his wife takes the opening like the debate champion she is. Years of Winter Star feasts with her extended family have turned her into something of an expert in these matters. He’s witnessed one of these feasts firsthand- it wasn’t ten minutes before someone brought up the ongoing war, and in the blink of an eye it devolved into a verbal bloodbath. 

… He hasn’t attended any events with them since. He shakes his head at the memory and looks at his wife again, watching her make her point. 

“If someone talked about you the way you talk about Emily, like she’s… some kind of exotic wildlife- Yoba, Clint! It’s no wonder you bitch about being alone all the time!” _Get his ass, babe._ Shane takes this moment, where neither are looking at him, to zip his vest back up. A tragic thing to do in the heat, but come on- _her eyes only._

“It’s not my fault women don’t like nice m-”

“Women like men who treat them like _people!”_

Clint doesn’t respond. After a moment, his wife continues. This time, her voice is calmer- but it’s just as intense. 

“That’s what it’s about, Clint. You don’t treat women like people. And it’s weird. Treat us the same way you treat men.”

_“Oh,_ so I _shouldn’t_ hold the door open f-”

“Not if you're expecting to get something out of it.” The core of the issue. Right there, laid out in front of them- just like that. She’s spot on. Shane can’t see her face, but just by the tone of her voice, he knows she’s giving Clint the glare of a lifetime. 

Shane’s been trying to tell him that for years, but he’s never quite been able to hit the nail on the head. Now though, the nebulous words he’s had on the tip of his tongue finally come to him- and if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his showers dreaming up conversations in his head where he gets a chance to say them, he’ll have to speak now. 

“It’s not that women don’t like ‘nice men-’” He grimaces as he says that part, but powers on anyway- slow and articulate, careful not to trip over his own words. “It’s the fact that you expect to be rewarded for being nice.” Shane looks him dead in the eye. “No one likes a kiss-ass, Clint.” 

…Not quite the insightful, erudite phrasing he’d hoped for, but it seems to land where it’s supposed to anyway. 

There’s another long pause. Another breeze rolls through the valley. They’re all staring at each other, but the argument seems to have run its course. 

Eventually, it’s Clint that breaks the oppressive silence, finally meeting his wife’s eyes once more: 

“...So you and Emily _aren’t-”_

“No.” 

“So she’s…” She puts her hands on her hips again, impatient, but tired. 

“Probably confused why you’re acting weird. Yeah.” This seems to get Clint's attention- it’s clearly some kind of revelation for him. His eyes widen, and he seems even more ansty than before, like he suddenly has somewhere to be.

“…I- I should- I should probably-” His wife crosses her arms. 

“Go talk to her- like she’s a person, for once? Yes. You should.” Clint sheepishly looks between the two of them, his posture folding in on itself as he backs away.

“Sorry. To both of you. I shouldn’t have…I really thought… I- I’m… gonna go now.” And with that, he leaves the two of them- confrontational stances and all- alone in the shade.

After several moments, once they both finish processing… _whatever_ the hell that was, Shane shakes his head and sighs. His fingers come to the bridge of his nose, and he hears the exasperation in his voice. 

“And I thought Emily was a saint for putting up with _me.”_

His wife chuckles at that, the tension in her shoulders relaxing as she turns to him. She looks tired as she comes back to his side once more, but once her eyes meet his, she smiles. It seems they’re both taking this moment to appreciate the view- outfits and all.

But then, her eyebrows raise, and he knows she’s about to open her mouth and make him roll his eyes. 

“Hmm…does that mean you think I’m a saint too?” She gives him a cheeky, expectant smile as she looks up at him, her hand wandering up to his vest collar once more. 

His exhale is incredulous as his hands rest on her hips. He shakes his head with a smile, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He regards her with an unamused raise of his eyebrows once he pulls back, unable to keep the dry, sarcastic smile from his face as he brushes a wayward strand of hair from her face.

“I _think_ you’re fishing for compliments, babe.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He gently swats her hand away from the zipper of his vest, and she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. You’re no fun.” Her hands join together behind his neck, and she gives his outfit another once over. “...I think these clothes just make you mean.”

“I’m no meaner than usual, babe.” He gives her a pointed look and a smug smile of his own. _“You’re_ just more insufferable than usual today.” She gasps, but it turns into a laugh as she tries to recover. Before she can fire back, his dark lips meet hers once more. “...Must be the outfit-”

When they break away, she runs a hand through his hair, somehow even more smug than before. Her voice is gentle and innocent, despite her words:

“What’re you saying, Shane? That you’d like me better _without_ it?”

After a moment of looking to the distance, scratching his jaw with a thoughtful hum, he meets her gaze with a shrug and a lazy smile. 

“Only one way to find out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...was very tempted to have shane narrate the argument like a gridball game, i think that would have been funny
> 
> _"A brilliant intercept from the farmer! Her defense has been getting better this season- and oh- oh wait, hold on- she's taking aim at Clint's weird niceguy complex! She's winding back- going on the offense- anddddd goal! Sport words! Etc!"_
> 
> ... Someone who knows sportsgames better than me, feel free to steal that idea. I hope you have a... _field day_ with it, hahaha  
> 
> 
> Anyway, feel free to click off the page now. If not for that joke, then because I'm about to control+C my original beginning chapter notes in, where I wrote an unnecessarily long defense for my (uncharitable? unfaithful? "'"unique?"'" Comment your thoughts below!) characterization of Clint in these last few chapters:
> 
> "Not too sure about this chapter, y'all. 
> 
> Characterization's probably some kind of wack with Clint- there's just not a whole lot of dialog with him. There's a lot of my own extrapolation (aka: reaching) in this chapter as a result- some faithful, some exaggerated for entertainment value.
> 
> In my defense: during his scene at the saloon, telling him to "treat women like men" gets you the most friendship points, implying it's what he needs to hear most. Given that, I think it's not unreasonable to read him as something of a NiceGuy™. 
> 
> I'm gonna stop typing now before I write a ten page analysis on the implications of a few throwaway dialog lines for a side character of a videogame, made by one guy alone, who probably was only thinking of the comedy said line would add to the scene-
> 
> ANYWAY. Shutting up now. Happy Reading!"


	13. Festival of Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short update today.  
> this one really is a one shot i promise lmao

Currently, Shane’s in the middle of cursing whatever tradition dictates that they hold this damn festival every year. An _Ice_ Festival? What the hell’s the point? It’s _ice._ It’s cold. It's slippery. It’s stupid.

Sure, he might have been one of the ones who helped set up the festival, but if anything, that gives him even more license to complain about it. As he watches Lewis lay out the rules for the Fishing Competition, he internally scoffs at how much of a waste of time this all is.

He also winks at his wife, who’s tapping her foot impatiently and raising her hand to point at Elliot, a joking challenge- the same one she gives every year. Elliot just closes his eyes, shaking his head with all his usual grace and class.

It occurs to him that love is a hell of a drug. Somehow, he’s both simultaneously grumbling to himself about how this event is a total waste of time _and_ eagerly waiting to watch his wife kick Elliot’s ass at ice fishing. And he’s not just being blindly supportive here, she will kick his ass- a product of Elliot’s complete lack of skill, rather than any angling talent from her.

They’re both terrible at this, and he’s pretty sure that’s half the fun for them.

Lewis’ shout marks the start of the competition. The tension in the air is palpable as the crowd looks on- which, if anything, might be a testament to how boring this festival is. If _ice fishing_ is the most exciting thing here…

Maybe he _should_ be looking into starting a pizza festival. Only place this can all go is up, right?

He turns his attention back towards the competition. His wife reels in algae. Elliot struggles with the fishing pole… and reels in algae. Willy reels in a big fish, and Pam seems to be taking it personally.

“Shane.” He turns his head to find Sebastian standing next to him, hands shoved into his pockets, not bothering to look at him as he talks.

“So…the Winter Star thing’s coming up soon, right?”

Shane nods, waiting for him to continue.

“And…well, for the Secret Friend thing-” Sebastian purses his lips and reaches into his jacket and pulls out a letter. He holds it up like it’s obvious. It’s not- Shane gives him a blank look, and moves his head in a silent gesture to continue.

Sebastian huffs, but whether it’s out of annoyance or the cold- Shane can’t tell. Shane watches as he deftly flips the letter open and turns it to him. Circled at the bottom, in Lewis’ god awful handwriting, is his wife’s name. After a moment, Sebastian folds it back up and jams it into his jacket.

“So, yeah. No idea what to get. So, I figured- I mean,” Sebastian shrugs and gives him another look like he shouldn’t even have to finish his sentence. “You know her pretty well, right?”

Shane raises his eyebrows. He knows Sebastian is trying to be casual, and this is probably awkward for him since the two of them never speak, but...Shane can’t help himself. 

Unfortunately for everyone, Shane’s never too good for a little sarcasm. His voice is deadpan, but there’s a smile threatening to reach his lips as he looks over in his direction and enunciates his words.

“…I _am_ her _husband.”_

A triumphant cry rings out from the frozen lake- his wife just caught a fish. She holds it up for the crowd with a radiant beam, but she’s looking only at him. Shane gives her a nod of acknowledgement and flashes a warm, broad smile her way, full enough that he feels his eyes crinkle at the sides. _Good job, babe._ She winks at him and casts her line again.

He turns back to Sebastian, his expression melting back into his usual air apathy of once more. Sebastian looks between him and his wife and ventures his question again.

“So? Are you gonna help me?” Pam’s cackle echoes across the field. 

After a moment, Shane nods as he watches the competition, a hand coming to scratch his jaw as he thinks. He’s not even sure what _he’s_ going to get his wife yet, so he’ll have to suggest something that he knows he can top-

Okay. He has a few ideas. He looks back to Sebastian as the competition comes to an end. Lewis announces the winners before he can actually say anything though- Willy takes first, once again. And as he knew she would- his wife beat Elliot. She caught double what he did- a whole two fish compared to his one. Shane shares a smile with her before turning back to Sebastian, pausing to think before he rattles off a few suggestions.

“You can’t go wrong with coffee. Or dessert foods. And…hm. Robin still selling those houseplants?” The question seems to catch him off guard. Sebastian’s eyes dart around as he tries to recall, but eventually he looks at him and nods.

“Yeah.” Shane gives Sebastian a pointed look, silently indicating that _that’s your ticket buddy,_ before he continues- his voice low and knowing.

“She’s had her eye on the one in the red pot for the past few weeks.” Sebastian's eyebrows raise a little at the information. Before he can respond, a look of alarm crosses his face and he stumbles backward.

Shane frowns and turns, right as a snowball flies past his head.

His wife. Standing by one of the igloos, a grin wide on her face. Shane smiles and shakes his head at her in something like a warning. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care- she just laughs, an eyebrow quirking up.

“What’s the matter? You two got a problem with having a little fun?” Sebastian’s at a loss for words- apparently unsure of how to respond to a taunt from someone who isn’t Abigail or Sam. He can't blame him though- his wife's done a fairly good job of keeping her mischievous streak under the radar. The townsfolk who she doesn't talk to much still seem to be under the impression she's an altruistic rule follower. Which she is- _most_ of the time.

Shane chuckles and shakes his head again, speaking up to correct her.

“Got a problem with your _aim_ babe-” He bends down with a grunt and scoops up some snow, shaping it into a snowball with an easy confidence and an uneven grin before looking her way again. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

His posture changes and he winds back, and suddenly, his wife realizes her mistake.

She’d let herself forget: the man she married wasn’t just some couch potato with a favorite gridball team.

No- she married _Shane,_ goddammit- a man famed and feared back in his day as a varsity gridball legend- the one, _the only,_ “King of the Field,” who led his team to victory with his soaring long-passes alone.

Her eyes widen and she scrambles away as he launches the snowball through the air- but there’s no saving her now.

She never stood a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: "In which Shane switches between "sappy bastard" and "ice-cold jackass" fast enough to give anyone who witnesses it whiplash"
> 
> Like, do you remember getting him pizza/pepper poppers/beer at the start of the game? Holy shit, I've yet to recover
> 
> Idk, Shane and Sebastian both exude "too cool for skool" vibes to me, so even if they aren't super good friends, I think they at least exchange the Guy Head Nod™ whenever they pass each other in town or whatever


	14. All's Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane visits the ranch to help with fair preparations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw that line about Shane becoming "corny in his old age," and suddenly it was six hours later and I had written this

With the Stardew Valley Fair coming up, Shane figured Marnie needed all the help she could get, so he offered to spend the day helping with the animals. 

When he showed up at the ranch that afternoon, he found his help wasn’t really needed. Jas was already doing excellent work on her own, and she was eager to prove it. Once they entered the barn, she _insisted_ he stay back and watch as she showed him how she’d “mastered” the art of coop-keeping. 

She practically had. Once she was done, she turned to where he leaned against the fence and expectantly asked him how she’d done. 

He couldn’t help but smile.

_This kid._ She’s a quick learner. He’s gonna run out things to teach her at this rate, and he couldn't be prouder. 

He said as much, and the beam that broke out on her face was nothing less than contagious. She ran into his arms and he picked her up and spun her around. As he set her down, he said it without even thinking:

“You’re getting _tall,_ kiddo. What's Marnie feeding you? _Fertilizer?”_ Jas giggled, and-

Oh no. _Oh no-_

_When did he get this corny?_

And so here he is: watching Jas do her chores, wondering when this all happened. It’s only a matter of time before Jas starts rolling her eyes and telling him he’s embarrassing…

More horrifying yet, he realizes _he can’t wait for it._

With some reluctance, he makes a mental note to read up on dad-jokes later. 

The rest of the afternoon flies by. Jas spends most of it on his shoulders, telling him what to do. 

It’s something like a tradition- one that started a few years ago when he realized how serious he and his wife were getting. It had occurred to him that- so long as he didn’t fuck it all up too bad- things were only to get more serious. And he was okay with that. But he had to make sure Jas could take care of the animals once he moved out. So, as he taught her the ropes, he’d give her a “quiz” every Friday afternoon after he got back from work. 

_“Work-”_ Yoba, how things have changed. For the better. 

The “quiz” was simple enough- Jas could ride on his shoulders, but she had to walk him through all her chores. He’d follow her orders and play stupid- pick up the wrong tools, make mistakes on purpose, try to do things in the wrong order- and it was her job to stop him. She had to tell him what to do instead, and why.

It was fun for her, and it helped him gage what all she understood, and what parts he needed to re-explain to her. 

Now, though, she’s as much of an expert as a kid can be- so he calls it a “review session.” It’s the same concept, but this time around, he jokes he’s been gone too long- that _“Oh no! He’s forgotten how to do it all!”_

As he tries to put bedding for the chickens into their feed container, she laughs at him- her hands flailing and frantically smacking him on the head as she tries to correct him between giggles. He knows she doesn’t mean anything by it, and obviously she’s not trying to hurt him- but he can’t help it. He’s her godfather, and if he wants to do the role justice, he should probably do the responsible thing here and make sure she’s not smacking anyone else like this. 

He stops and tilts his head up to look at her. 

“Whack me too hard and I really _will_ start forgetting things, kiddo-” 

He gets ready to tell her _“smacking people isn’t nice- please don’t go around hitting people who aren’t me when they’re this stupid... even if it is tempting-”_ but before he can start, another voice calls out to him:

“There you are, traitor.” He turns his head to see his wife. Despite her words, she smiles at them as she crosses her arms. He returns the smile, watching as she joins them on the other side of the fence. She rests a foot on the lower rung and theatrically brings a hand to her forehead like she’s going to faint. 

“Traitorous Shane! Caught red handed, helping a rival grange display! Betrayed- by my very own husband!” She stifles her laughter and looks to Jas. Jas only giggles as his wife dramatically clutches her chest and points her way.

“Is this your doing, child? Have you bribed this man with pizza? _Pepper poppers?!_ What dark and wretched deal have you made to turn him against me?” Jas is too busy laughing to respond. 

Apparently all out of melodramatic jokes, his wife sobers. She chuckles and shakes her head before turning her attention his way with a smile.

“So, how's it going? There gonna be a wheel of cheese this year?” Shane shrugs- hands still supporting Jas- and looks over to watch the cows graze. 

“Seems like it. Cows are cooperating. For now.” His wife nods, and her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, her hand coming to shield her mouth like someone’s watching. 

“So... you two think I can beat Marnie this year?” Shane looks up at Jas with a smile. 

“Whaddya think, kiddo? Think this farmer has a shot?”

As Jas vigorously shakes her head and tells her _“No way!”_ it comes to him. 

_Seriously, when did this happen?_

Is this just what happens when you get old? 

...Might as well embrace the man he’s become. Resigning himself to his fate, he looks back to his wife. 

“The kid's right babe-” His neutral expression is already cracking, and he can’t keep the smile out of his voice, but he continues anyway- “We aren’t going to make it… _cheesy_ for you.”

Shane watches his wife's soul leave the mortal plane for a moment. He (mostly jokingly) tries on the term “divorcee” in his head as he waits for her response. Finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, she meets his eyes again. She takes great care to speak her next words slowly, with an almost surgical precision.

“How… _dairy_ you…”

If Jas wasn’t on his shoulders... well, Shane would have climbed the fence and kissed her right then and there. Instead, he just shrugs- and with as much of a charismatic smile he can manage- settles for the next best option:

“Better to ask for forgiveness than _parmesan,_ right babe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apolo _cheese_ in advance, but I will be renaming this fic "Cheddar Days" and there's nothing you can gouda stop me
> 
> _Feta_ up with the jokes? Let me know in the comments!


	15. Commercial Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't have fun all the time. Sometimes, all it takes is a commercial break to remind him of that.  
> Fluff with a side of angst  
> Don't worry, next chapter we'll get back to your regularly scheduled programming :)

It would be nice if he could escape the damn Joja commercials.

He spent enough time in hell already, why remind him?

As he and his wife sit on the couch, the show they’re watching cuts to a commercial break. Immediately, they’re bombarded by a Joja product advertisement. Then, a Joja Subsidiary advertisement- which, he supposes, isn’t saying much. What _isn’t_ owned by Joja nowadays?

For a minute, it seems like they'll find some kind of reprieve in this movie trailer- but goddammit- there’s no end to this absurdity. Why the hell does _“Zuzu City Express”_ need a sequel 50 years later? No one fucking asked. He says as much, and his wife snickers.

The next commercial plays. Some guy- shirtless, with a BMI in the negative, smiles at the camera with blinding white teeth as he does pull-ups at a gym. _Pull ups. Man. He used to be the king of that shit fifteen years ago._

But then, there’s another thought. Nagging, tugging at the back of his head- forcing its way to the surface, whether he wants it to or not.

_Not anymore, Shane- not for a long time. You’ve rested on your laurels, and look what’s happened to you. Old and weak._

_How the mighty fall._

Ah, there it is. Long time, no see- it’s none other than that cruel little piece of him, with all its dismal predictions and ominous warnings. An old friend, come to visit.

Dormant, but never vanquished.

The _“insidious whisper,”_ he calls it- named after the villain from a book he read in middle school. He doesn’t remember much else about it- it was a homework assignment, so obviously, he half assed it. And yet, somehow, that term stuck with him all these years anyway.

Might as well put it to use and give his self-loathing a name. Makes it seem more mysterious, like he’s the tortured main character of a gothic novel or something. As he facetiously considers pitching this idea to Elliot, the whisper continues: _Look at yourself, Shane. Long and hard. Look what’s happened to you in those fifteen years._

_Do you even recognize yourself?_

The commercial cuts to shots of people smiling at themselves in the mirror, then having an unrealistic amount of fun at a beach. Shane closes his eyes and fights the urge to change the channel. With a deep breath, he tries to re-center himself. _How many times have you been over this shit? Dammit Shane, don’t even start. Don’t even think about it. Name one good thing. One good quality, one good deed, one good comeback, it doesn’t matter-_

_One good thing._

_…Fuck._

The sound of the commercial keeps cutting through his concentration. Every time he tries to start over, it flashes to a new image- a smile, a soda can, someone jogging at sunrise- and the cheery voice completely derails his thoughts.

_“Slimming, anti-aging soda! Get Joja Timeless! Now with 185% more blue-raspberry flavor!”_ After a disclaimer almost as long as the ad itself plays, the commercial ends and another one starts- this time, some bullshit diet program. Shane sets his jaw and pulls his wife closer. His head rests atop hers as he watches the cat bat around a little stuffed mouse he bought in Zuzu City a few months ago.

His wife is smart. Or maybe he’s just predictable. It’s both, probably- but regardless, she picks up on the signals he’s putting out, whether he wants her to or not. She takes one of his dry, calloused hands in hers and brings it to her lips. Her voice is small and quiet- but no less certain.

“I love you, Shane.”

Huh. It’s been a while since he scoffed at that.

It's not like he’s not scoffing _at_ her. He’s scoffing because…well... _him? Seriously? The universe did her dirty with that one, didn’t it?_

He tries to play off his lapse in judgement as a joke, pressing a kiss to her hair with a smile.

“Get well soon, babe." He even gives a little laugh to help sell it.

Unfortunately for him though, his wife is smart. She pulls back and looks to the TV, and then back to him with a raised eyebrow. Somehow, along the way, she figured out his tells. It seems nowadays, she can always spot the difference between his usual sarcastic bravado and his shaky deflections. She’s never been one to let an issue like this fester, so her next words are no surprise. She tilts her head as she looks at him, her voice gentle and non-judgemental.

“What’s funny?”

After a moment of awkwardly searching her eyes, and the room around them, he just shakes his head and shrugs. There's a thoughtful pause, and his wife continues, her hand coming to the side of his face:

“Do you think it’s unreasonable? That I love you?” Her fingers are feather-light against his temple.

This time, Shane’s laugh is shaky at best as he looks back to the TV. When he meets her gaze again, he can’t keep the emotion out of his voice for very long.

“I-” He lets out a huff as he tries to find his words. “I mean, look at me.”

He gestures to himself- his relatively short stature, his bad posture, his unimpressive face. The stubborn layer of softness on his arms, his hips, his thighs. His un-white teeth. The faint lines forming at the corners of his eyes and by his mouth.

She’s a lot better looking than him, he thinks, even if she’ll never accept that kind of compliment.

“You could do a lot better than _this_ babe, that’s for damn sure.” He laughs- weak and breathy- but his smile is as brittle as his voice. “I love you, but…” He trails off for a moment.

“It seems a little weird sometimes, yeah.” Her eyebrows come together as she mulls this over. Hesitantly, his hand covers hers as he waits for her response.

Finally, she meets his eyes again- something like concern, or maybe confusion, lines her forehead.

“Is it weird to fall in love with a man selfless enough to spend all that time teaching me how to work with animals? Who taught me everything I know? Who cared enough to come over every weekend to check on them?”

He bites his lip and resists the urge to tell her _that was mostly an excuse to see you, babe. Let’s not give me too much credit here._ But as he looks from the cat back to her, he realizes she’s only just begun.

“Shane, I’m totally, _hopelessly_ in love with a man who’s both smart and meticulous enough to figure out how to create an _entirely new_ breed of chicken. A breed healthier, more productive, and fucking _blue-”_ She breaks out into a smile, and all of a sudden, his heart is beating ten times faster.

Regardless of whatever look is on his face right now, she continues:

“Is it weird to be in love with a man capable enough to fix just about anything? Or a guy who’s sharp enough to figure out how a movie’s gonna end after only watching the first hour? Who’s hard work an _entire festival_ is dependent on?” The smile she’s giving him gets a little wider and a little more playful. “One who can make the _perfect_ omelet-”

Despite himself, Shane laughs at that.

“Okay, okay-” As he talks, he pulls her hand from his face, guiding it to his chest. “-For the record, I can only make it _diner_ style. I don’t know how to do it the fancy way.”

She’s leaning in closer to him, her eyes lingering on his lips.

“Good thing fancy presentation don't affect taste, then.” She pauses for a moment, realizing herself. “This is getting off-topic. My point is, my husband’s a wonderful, accomplished, handsome bastard, and I love him.” Shane feels a weak smile on his lips. He leans in a little closer.

”I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

Then, all the sudden, she’s closed the gap. Between kisses, she speaks.

“Seriously- I love you- so much. _Shane-”_ When she says his name like that…He can’t help himself. His hands come to hold her face as he brings her closer for one more kiss. When they break away and catch their breath, she rests her forehead against his. “I love you, Shane, and I’m proud of you.”

And that’s all it takes. Those four words- they always do a number on him. _“I’m proud of you.”_ Just like that, his breath catches in his throat, and suddenly, his eyes are stinging.

Instead of trying to say anything- he can’t, not with this shaking buildup of emotion in his throat- Shane just pulls her closer and kisses her forehead. While he tries to keep his breathing even, she speaks. Her voice is just as gentle as before- like the question is only for him, and she's trying to keep the rest of the world from listening in.

“So...It’s not so unreasonable, is it?” He rests his chin on her head once more, closing his eyes, letting a weak smile spread across his face. His fingers play idly with her hair, and despite the fact he hasn’t regained full control of his voice yet, he responds.

“Not when you word it like that, I guess it isn’t.” He hears that huff she makes when she smiles, and something swells in his chest. She leans in closer and reaches a hand up to bury her fingers in his hair, and another overwhelming wave of emotion washes over him once more.

This moment could last forever- in their own little slice of eternity- but even at the end of time, he’ll still need a few more minutes with her. As they stay in each other’s arms for the time they _do_ have, it finally comes to him:

_One good thing._

He’s made his wife proud. There. One good thing he's done. Question answered. 

...But it’s a cop-out, and he knows it. 

He thinks about it more- despite how much he'd rather be focusing on his lovely wife in his arms- and he digs a little deeper. As he looks back at the things he’s done these last few years, he sees the whole picture, in perfect clarity- if only for a moment. But he'll hold on to it. He will, even on days like these.

He'll remember the improvements he’s worked so hard to make to his life- the therapist, the sobriety, the fresh air he makes himself get every morning. The chickens, happy and thriving under his care. The delighted, joyful laugh Jas gives every time he sees her, as she shouts his name and runs into his arms. His initials, blinking on the screen, in the third spot on the global leaderboards. All the fences, the heaters, the leaky rooftops he’s fixed- either for his wife, or for Marnie, or for the people around town.

Nowadays, if it needs a wrench, you call Maru or you call Shane. And only one of the two has enough free time to get it done within the day.

…People seek _him_ out when they need help. Three years ago, that would have been a really funny joke. But nowadays, it's just reality. He remembers the warm, grateful smile on Evelyn's face when he stopped by and fixed her sink last week. The way she shook his hand, the appreciation plain in her voice as she thanked him when he left.

He'll remember he's come a long way. 

So. One more time.

_One good thing._

Easy.

Shane’s made _himself_ proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my usual stuff, but once this semester calms down, I should be able to get back into a flow of things. I wrote this between cramming for tests- but hopefully it doesn't show too much. 
> 
> I'm probably gonna slow down on writing this, but don't worry just yet! Once 1.5 comes out, my little fingers won't be able to type fast enough, I'm sure. 
> 
> Either way, I'll be back on my bullshit soon enough lol
> 
> In the meantime, insert generic call to action for engagement here, I guess


End file.
